A Series of Firsts
by antelucem
Summary: A series of tiny little stories describing the "firsts" between Jack and Elsa. (All non-related but all delivering the fluffy goodness of this lovely OTP.)
1. The First Meeting

Adjusting to college is hard.

On a rainy Sunday, Elsa Arendelle knows this all too well. It's raining like a bastard, and Elsa silently berates herself for not bringing an umbrella. She isn't worried about the cold, per se, but she's worried about catching one, and the water seeps through her clothes until it reaches her core and she's utterly soaked.

Her trench coat does nothing to protect her from the rain, and the water settles into her perfectly put up hair.

Everybody else is inside, sleeping in the dorms, but Elsa's an early riser, and she's already had breakfast. The paper bag she carries in her hands is full of extra doughnuts that she bought for breakfast, and in her other hand is a giant coffee cup, half of which was consumed in one long gulp.

The little drops fall from the sky to coat her eyelashes, and she isn't really sure where she's going. She's walking blindly, and she _thinks_ she's going to the right place, but she can't be too sure, so worry settles in her stomach.

This is to her, college in a nutshell: confusion, alienation, and rainy Sundays in which she inevitably gets lost because she's an idiot who hasn't familiarized herself with the campus yet and because—

"Hey, are you lost?"

Her spine arches stiffly when she realizes she's not alone, and the voice behind her belongs to a _boy_.

Cautiously, she turns around to see someone only slightly taller than her with crazy white hair and crazy blue eyes. _Goddammit, it _is_ a boy_. He's wearing a battered navy hoodie that looks like he's had it forever. And even better, he's holding quite possibly the ugliest umbrella she's ever seen in her life. It's garish and abstract and _strange_.

"No, I'm not lost," she says quietly, shaking her head. Water droplets fall from her face, and she's thinking how to get out of his vicinity as soon as possible. "No, but thank you."

"You are _totally_ lost," the boy says with an accusing grin. "Are you a freshman or something because—"

"No," she repeats firmly. "I'm not lost, but thank you."

He steps close to her until she's under the umbrella. Her breath stops, and she can't believe he would just approach her like that. He's far too close to her now, and her hands begin trembling. Goddamn nerves. And _all_ he does after is just casually ask, "So where are you going?"

"I'm _not lost_," she says out of exasperation. She doesn't like to be under strange people's umbrellas, and she doesn't like boys that automatically assume she's lost even if she is.

"You aren't going to get rid of me that easily," he says with that same open forwardness, and she looks at him like she can't believe what he's saying. And she really can't. His face is too close, and she draws in a rattling breath. _Calm yourself_. "You're clearly soaked, so just let me walk you back to your dorm or whatever."

She eyes him warily for a moment. He _looks_ genuine enough—bright eyes and a mouth that seems to be perpetually smiling. He looks far from intimidating too. Her examination continues before she concedes and he sees it in the slight relaxation of her shoulders. "I'm in Desmond Hall."

He laughs. "You, lady, are _so_ lost. Desmond is all the way on the other side of campus. Freshman, right?"

"I'm a professor, actually."

"Oh, _testy_. No need to get sore with me, lady. I'm just doing a good deed."

Under the umbrella with him—she doesn't even know his name yet—Elsa wants to bolt, but she knows that he knows the way and she's going to get even more lost without him. He begins walking, and she adapts to his pace quickly, noting how her flats look wildly out of place next to his beat up sneakers. She can't even hug herself because her hands are full of food, and her breath lets out little cold puffs into the air.

"My name's not _lady_," she says after a beat. It's too long of a pause, and she wonders if he'll even know what the hell she's talking about.

"What _is_ your name?" he asks, and he says it with these waggling eyebrows, as if he knows that it's a superficial question, a stupid one that she doesn't want to answer.

"…Vladimir Putin."

"God, the _testiness_. Are you really Putin himself?"

"Yes."

He laughs then, and she can't help but smile a little too because at least he can tolerate some acrid humor.

"Are you enjoying your freshman year at Pittsburg, Professor Putin?" The playful words ease the chill on her skin, and she finds her smile growing a little bigger.

_Is this what they call 'flirting'?_

"Mildly."

"Why isn't your answer a resounding _yes_?"

"An amalgamation of factors," she says, and he lets out a low whistle.

"Impressive vocabulary."

"Thanks. I read every once in a while."

"I'm glad."

A silence falls between the two of them, and Elsa figures she might as well say something to be polite. It's always about being polite. And the umbrella _is_ keeping her relatively dry.

"What's the design on your umbrella?" she asks, hating the slightly breathless quality in her voice. It makes her sound unsteady, unsure, and—

"You ever hear of Matisse, lady?" He looks up at the umbrella, and she notices that the design is also on the inside.

"Was he...a painter?"

"Very good," the boy says. "A plus student. Only, Matisse wasn't _only_ a painter—he did this fantastic series of expressionist art called the Jazz cutouts. He couldn't paint anymore then, he got too old, the poor bastard—excuse my language. But yeah, they're these really awesome paper cutouts, and when I went to a museum they had umbrellas there with this print on them, so I thought wa-hey why not?"

"Are you an art major?" she asks. Something in his voice sparks when he talks about Matisse, and she likes it.

"Nah," he says, shaking his head. "I just appreciate a lot."

Elsa lets that sentence sit in her mind until she can arrange it in loops and poems in her head.

"Hey, look—Desmond's right over there."

When the building comes into view, Elsa breathes a sigh of relief and steps out under his umbrella.

It's still raining, and she has to kind of squint to see him, but she still tries to make direct eye contact with him anyway, as a courtesy. "Thank you."

"No problem," he says easily, as if he always walks lost girls around campus at seven in the morning. "You ever get lost again, lady, just call me."

She doesn't get his name, and when she walks up the steps, all she does is give him a tentative wave.

He returns it, and she sees that ugly umbrella as he walks away in the rain.

And that one sentence he said shifts around in her mind until she finds the perfect structure, and she's a tiny bit happy, even if her skin is bone cold.

* * *

I just

_appreciate_

a lot.

* * *

**AN**: Hello! All these one-shots will be in different modern settings, and the majority of them won't be connected whatsoever, but they'll all be "firsts," like first hug, first kiss, etc.

If you're looking for a slightly more saucy first, I'm sorry because I'm_ terrible_ at writing those kinds of firsts and if I did write one it'd be totally sarcastic and taking the piss out of everything, which is something I tend to do.

But if there's a first you really want me to do, tell me and I will be happy to think about it :D


	2. The First I Love You

"I love you."

Her breath freezes, and for a second she doesn't know how to think.

"_What_?"

He laughs at this, and pulls her closer on the couch.

_The Lion King_, one of Elsa's favorites, is on in the background of his living room. It's supposed to be a regular Sweatpants Sunday, and all they're supposed to do is order takeout and watch old Disney cartoons.

But clearly, Jack has other things on his mind.

"I _love_ you," he says, and she freezes again. "I was thinking about it the other day."

His voice is simple and thoughtful, and her mind whirls with a million thoughts.

"_What_?"

He laughs harder the second time around, and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"Is this really hard to believe or something?"

"Yes," she blurts out, and he looks at her with a hint of concern in his eyes, wondering if he's crossed a line. "You can't just—just spring something like this on me! What? You need to give me time to think, God, what—"

"Don't worry about it," he says softly. He squeezes her hands. "If it makes you feel uncomfortable, forget I said anything."

"I'm not uncomfortable," she says immediately, even though her favorite part—"Hakuna Matata"—is on. "It's just a lot to digest. Not uncomfortable. You know how nervous I get about these things, sorry sorry sorry—"

"Don't _worry_," he repeats, and this time she squeezes his hands. "Forget about it."

"But," she whispers. _He loves me_. _He loves _me. She pulls herself off of him, and faces him on the couch. He watches her, noting the way her hands have started fiddling with the end of her braid, and the elegant jut of her collarbone. Vaguely he remembers kissing that collarbone at some point in time. "Do…do you _really mean it_?"

He gives her a small smile. "Do you think I meant it?"

"I asked you the question," she replies, and her blood is thumping because it's telling her that _he really means it_.

"No," he says with a straight face and a good-natured eye roll. "I was thinking about you all yesterday, and today when I told you I love you I didn't mean it _at all_."

"Your sarcasm is very much appreciated," Elsa says. _He loves me_. "Thank you."

"Always glad to meet a fan," Jack says with that same straight face, and Elsa grins a little bit.

"But," he continues, and she sees uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Are you…are you okay with that?"

"Am _I _okay?" she asks. "Are _you_ okay? Why are you bringing this up now? Why have you decided all of a sudden that you would _love_ me, Goddammit what brought this—"

"Why do I love you?" he interrupts her with eyebrows raised. "_Why_ do I love you?"

"I mean—"

"Elsa, okay," he says. "Do I need to provide a list of the thousand reasons why I love you or something? Do I need to sing you a shitty ballad to prove to you oh goddess of my heart, that—"

She laughs and puts her fingers over his mouth because half of the things he says doesn't make sense, and from the wicked glint in his eyes he knows it.

He kisses the inside of her hand before prying her fingers off his lips, and grabs her hand in his.

"Irregardless"—a laugh from Elsa because he knows she hates that word—"prepare for one friggin' long soliloquy or whatever the hell that thing is. Ready?"

He doesn't even give her time to answer, and she just looks at him curiously.

"Four score and seven years ago"—a groan from Elsa, and a hushing from Jack—"I first saw you, and goddamn I was kind of overwhelmed. I don't know if you know this, but you're beautiful, and even though it's totally irrelevant it humbles me because it reminds me that I'm really lucky.

"And by some even more luck, I convinced you to date me—like literally how in the world does that happen, but I digress—and it was the start of what I like to call the Greatest Relationship in the Meager History of Jack Frost's Relationships.

"But you know, you make me happy. And I guess this isn't going to be a thousand reason long list because I'm running out of steam already, and I already feel like puking because cheesiness is not my forte, but yeah. Love. You. Me. Is that okay now?"

Something inside her melts then, and she takes his arm and begins playing with the ragged cuff of that sweatshirt he always wears.

"It's okay," she says . "It's more than okay. But Jack Frost, you are literally an idiot."

"As opposed to_ figuratively_ being an idiot?"

She gives him a weary look, and all he gives is a rakish grin in return.

"You're lucky you're good looking," she says. "Otherwise you'd be even more insufferable than you are now."

"Elsa, you wound me."

"You know I'm kidding. If you were ugly, I suppose I'd tolerate your presence too."

"Hey. Shots fired."

"But," she says with a pounding in her chest, "is this the part where I'm supposed to say that I love you too?"

"Um, ideally, I believe so."

"Ideally," she says, pulling at an unraveling string on the cuff, "am I supposed to provide a thousand reason list why I love you?"

"Maybe," he says, just a tiny bit nervous about what's coming out of her mouth next. "But you know, it's really up to you."

"Because," she says, "there _are_ a thousand reasons, you know. But I don't feel like making a list, and I don't think that it matters as much as the fact that…I do. Is that horribly cheesy? That's horribly cheesy. Are we awful at this?"

"Nah," he smiles, and takes her cheeks gently in his hands. "We're perfect at this."

And when their lips touch, she feels that familiar spark rise in her body, and as her hands travel through his hair and over his shoulder blades, she also feels that familiar unbridled freedom.

In the movie, forgotten in the background, "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" begins playing, and as both of them begin laughing and groaning at the pure cheesiness, they settle into each other.

Because nothing feels as unearthly as another person's laughter in your mouth.

* * *

It doesn't matter

as much as the fact that

_I do_.


	3. The First Dance

"Elsa," Jack says one afternoon as they're both eyeing at their math homework. "Calculus can suck my dick, honestly."

"Language," she replies absentmindedly. The heat swirls through the room they're in, and she stiles a yawn. Elsa flips a couple of pages through her Stats textbook and sighs. "However, I echo that sentiment."

He grins, and reaches across the table to fiddle with her pencil case. She looks up at him with a wry smile, and looks back down as soon as she can.

"Get back to work," she says. He continues fiddling with the pencil case, and she berates herself for noticing how long and nice his fingers are. "They're going to kick us out of the library if they don't believe that I'm tutoring you, or whatever."

"You're far too much of a distraction," Jack says, and she rolls her eyes, knowing very well that he's just a lazy bastard who doesn't want to do any work. "Plus, when the hell am I ever going to use an integral in my entire life? Or a derivative, for that matter? Or—"

"You're robbing yourself of an integral experience to understand what integrals are, Jack," Elsa replies, her eyes lighting the way they do whenever she makes a particularly bad pun and she wants to see how Jack reacts.

"Nice," Jack says. "Math jokes. Hilarious."

"I'm trying, at least. Look at you. You haven't done a problem in the last fifteen minutes. Get something done, at least."

"Being a second semester senior means I am no longer bound to do anything," he declares proudly, and she gives him another one of those small smiles that make his blood run a little faster. "Which means, I have time for more important things."

"What could possibly be more important than the freaking AP test you have in a month?"

"Hm…" he says, putting a finger on his chin. Then he snaps his fingers. "Prom. Prom! Prom's kind of important, right?"

"Ah," Elsa nods, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Prom. Yes. High school dances—very important."

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in that statement, Elsa Arendelle?"

"Not at all Jack Frost," she deadpans, and he grins at her. His teeth are so goddamn _white_ that sometimes she wants to shake him because nobody should be allowed to be so goddamn attractive.

"Speaking of integral experiences though," Jack says casually, "you _need_ to go to prom. It's a rite of passage, Elsa, and if you aren't there I'll be sorely disappointed."

"I'm not going to prom," she says.

Jack clucks his tongue at her. "Rite of _passage_, Elsa, do you hear me?"

She sighs, and closes her Stats textbook. "I'll _pass_ on that passage, thank you very much."

"Boys will be pounding at your door in a matter of days asking for your hand in promage, Elsa. You may as well mentally prepare yourself."

"I'm not going to prom," she repeats with a smile. "And the horde of my thousand suitors can find other dates."

"Oh, Elsa, you cold-hearted soul."

"No prom. Do your calc homework."

* * *

_One month later._

"How in the hell did Jack convince you to go to _prom_?"

It's currently prom night, and Anna's hanging out in Elsa's room, watching her older sister get ready.

All Elsa does is zip herself up in her dress, and she considers herself done. The dress is pretty—a blue one that Anna purchased for her—and Elsa isn't looking forward to the night at all. Sweaty bodies and fist pumping? Not her style.

"I don't really know," Elsa says simply in response. "He needed a date, the procrastinating bastard, and I was the only option left. I wasn't planning on going, God, but the way he begged me was kind of heartbreaking."

"What if he _likes_ you?" Anna asks suddenly, hitting Elsa's arm in excitement and sporting a devilish grin because she _knows_ that Elsa likes Jack. It's obvious, and Anna loves the vehement way her sister denies it.

Elsa snorts, but color rises a tiny little bit in her cheeks. "We're friends, Anna. Friends. I tutor him every Wednesday. Our relationship is strictly professional."

"He has to like you," Anna says. "Who wouldn't like you? Elsa, what if you guys fall in _lurv_ tonight? What if you end up bringing back little Jack and Elsa babies?"

"You're ridiculous," Elsa replies, a full-on flush on her face now. "He doesn't like me. I don't like him. Okay?"

"Whatever you say," Anna says in a sing song voice. Then she pretends to swoon, and bats her eyelashes. "You're going to prom with _Jack Frost_. Oh, how many girls will envy you, the one and only date of _Jack Frost_."

"Don't say his name like that," Elsa says uncomfortably. She crosses her arms, and examines her reflection in the mirror. "Maybe I should try harder. I don't want to embarrass him and all that."

"Yes, yes, yes," Anna agrees. "Try harder. Be that girl who people look at and are all 'Oh, _shit_, she's attractive, man I wish she were my prom date.'"

"Language," Elsa says absentmindedly, and she's fishing in her desk for makeup. Anna pops behind Elsa to pull up her hair into an intricate braid, and she sticks tiny bits of glitter in her hair.

While Elsa colors her lips berry, Anna nods in approval. "If he doesn't ask for your hand in marriage tonight, Elsa, I don't know what he'll do."

"_Anna_," Elsa says in exasperation. "Stop."

"I'm just trying to help," Anna says, her arms flinging wildly. "All this time, you still can't admit that you like him. Elsa, you're a second semester senior, and you only have a couple of _weeks_ left in school. Tell him you like him tonight. Punch him in the face. Suck his—"

"Anna, _oh my God_," Elsa cuts her off, but she's laughing so hard that Anna knows she's not in trouble.

The doorbell rings, and Elsa jumps.

Anna grins.

* * *

Jack's out on the dance floor somewhere, and Elsa's sitting at a table by herself.

Prom. Fun.

She isn't exactly having the greatest time, and when Jack waltzes back to the table, breathing hard and looking particularly dashing in a tapered suit, she wishes the earth could swallow her up.

"Are you having a good time?" Jack asks loudly over the music, taking a seat and sipping a little bit of her drink.

"Totally," Elsa replies. "Just spiked the punch, so everything's going dandy."

"I'm sorry for dragging you here," he says, suddenly looking at her with a hint of nervousness and remorse in his eyes. "I know you hate dances."

"Don't worry about it," she says with a wave of her hand. He sees the blue corsage he got her on her wrist, and he smiles a little bit. "This is a rite of passage, right?"

"Not right if you don't have any fun," Jack says. "Can't I convince you to dance at least once? All you've got to do is jump around and maybe move your hips or something. It'll be fun, Elsa, trust me."

"I've never danced before in my life," she replies, and his brows furrow at her statement. "I've never been to a dance, and I think the fact that I'm here tonight is extraordinary enough. Go have fun out there—"

"Never in _your entire life_?" He cuts her off, and his eyes look huge. He grabs her hand dramatically, and she laughs.

"Never. And I'm not planning to start today—"

"Your first dance is going to be goddamn tonight, Elsa," Jack says, and he begins pulling her to the dance floor.

"No, no, no, no—"

"_Yes_," he says.

The beat is pumping in the background, and Elsa continues with her "no"s until Jack takes her other hand too and begins spinning her around.

It's an entirely inappropriate move—he's swinging her around like she's a movie star or five years old, and in the background some degrading rap music is playing. But it's enough to make her smile, and Jack knows that it's worth it if he looks like an idiot.

They swing around for the duration of the song, and she's laughing so hard that tears are beginning to come to her eyes, and when the music stops, Jack's breathing hard because he's laughing too.

And then it happens.

The flashing lights in the room become dimmer and quieter, and the beat cuts off.

The DJ says something soft into the mic that's probably unbearably cheesy.

"Shit," Elsa hisses, and Jack looks at her with wide eyes. "Shit, shit, shit, this is my luck, goddammit, I'm sitting back down, go find some—"

"Oh no you're not," he says with a smile, and his rakish grin becomes softer as he draws her close. "You're my date tonight, you know."

"I'm your date because all of the other girls were already asked," she says, and she squirms in his grip. "Let me go."

"No," he replies, and his arms are now firmly locked around her waist. "This is your first legit dance, Elsa, and even though it's with me, at least it's with someone, right?"

"You're insufferable," she replies, but she looks around and puts her arms around his neck. Other girls are beginning to drape themselves over their dates, and she's careful enough to leave enough room for the Holy Spirit or whatever.

She smells like strawberries and vanilla, he notices, and he closes the gap a tiny little bit.

"I hate corny songs," she mutters, not making eye contact with him. It's unbearably awkward, she thinks, and she curses herself for letting him get so _close_ to her.

"I love corny songs," he replies, and he wonders if she can feel his hands shaking. "When it's done right. But hey, Elsa, I haven't told you this yet, but uh, you—you look really pretty tonight."

Her eyes flash up for a second, and he sees how _blue_ they are, and sometimes he wants to shake her because she's so goddamn beautiful.

"You look really pretty tonight too," she says under her breath. _Sarcasm is the last defense_, she remembers. "Gorgeous."

"Thanks. I try."

The song is still going on, and Elsa hadn't noticed that they're practically hugging each other now.

Her face flushes, and she knows that boys aren't worth worrying over, but sometimes Jack can do the smallest things and unhinge her.

"We're leaving school in less than a month," he murmurs into her ear, and a tiny shiver runs down her spine. "And because of that…I mean I guess there's something that I'd like to tell you."

She closes her eyes then because she's thinking too fast and literally what the _fuck_ is Jack doing and—

"It's slightly possible that I might like you," he says all in one breath, and he continues to move her side by side.

_What the fuck_.

"I know you might not like me back, and that's okay, and I feel like a freaking third grader right now telling little Nancy that I like her, but we have one month of school left so YOLO swag, am I right, and oh God, I'm rambling so just don't talk to me—"

She cuts him off with a startled laugh.

"Great, now you're laughing, excuse me, I'm going to crawl into the nearest hole and preferably die sometime in the next couple of hours. I should never do anything ever again."

She tightens her hold on him. "You're not going anywhere. No dying tonight."

"Why?"

"Because you're a moron, you idiot, and it's slightly possible that…I…might like you too."

"_What_?"

"I like you too," Elsa says, voice slightly stronger. A familiar dry quality begins coloring her words, and one side of his mouth pulls up in a smile. "And not just any like, Jack Frost. I like you in the _like like_ sense. Really big deal. Huge."

"Your sarcasm is much appreciated," he says, but his shoulders sag with relief. "But…I guess I'm glad then. Yeah. I'm really, really glad."

_I'm really glad too_.

* * *

_Less than one month later_.

"This is ridiculous," Elsa whispers.

"No it's not," Jack replies, with a smile that she can't see because it's so dark. But she hears it in his voice.

His arms are around her waist, and her arms are around his neck.

It was Jack's idea—dancing in the school quad one last time before they went off to college.

He hugs her and breathes her in. "I'm going to miss you, Elsa Arendelle."

She sighs a little bit but softens and squeezes him with her arms. "Likewise, Jack Frost."

And they hold each other because they won't see each other again until winter break, when they come back from opposite sides of the country, but they're feeling okay. Fate has a tendency to keep good things together when it really wants to.

And in the moonlit air—

they find love.


	4. The First Break

**AN:** Okay, so this is kind of a departure from what I've been writing so far; it's not pure fluff, and it's a tiny bit sad, I guess haha, and I'm not particularly proud of it. But I'd just like to say again thank you to everybody who's reviewed because it motivates me to do shit with my life even outside of writing fluff.

This chapter draws heavy influence from one particular scene in the movie _Definitely, Maybe_.

* * *

"When are you going to propose to her?"

The question fills the air immediately, and Jack chokes on his soda. He looks up from his video game, startled.

Elsa's wearing a grin on her face, and she places her bookmark in her paperback. "Soda got your tongue or something?"

"Clever."

It's a Monday night hangout for both of them. After he made his relationship official with Rapunzel, he was introduced to her cousin Elsa, and they became friends insanely quickly. Every Monday, they got together to watch a movie or talk or in this case, just hang out. They clicked together.

"How do you know I'm going to propose to her?" he says, fidgeting a little bit. It's no use trying to dodge the question; Elsa's bullshit detector is astoundingly accurate. "Who told you?"

"I heard you asking her father," she says, and she scoots closer to him on the couch, eyes glinting with mischief. "And so this fairytale relationship _has_ to end with a fairytale proposal, am I right?"

"Only you know?" he asks, ignoring the sarcasm under her words. He's used to her digs at his relationship. "No one else knows?"

"Scouts Honor," she replies with a salute. "I'm the only soul who bears your secret."

He rolls his eyes, but sighs in relief. "I'm really nervous, Elsa. Like, really really really nervous."

"When are you going to do it?" she asks, her smile even bigger now.

"Sunday," he says, and he pulls out a box from his pocket. "But I'm going to carry this ring around with all goddamn week so I don't weenie out last minute."

"That's a relief," she says. "Very practical. How are you going to do it?"

"No idea," he says. "Standard, I guess."

"That's not good enough for our Rapunzel," Elsa clucks her tongue at him, and she can't stop smiling because Jack looks uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Not fairytale enough."

"I don't know then," he shrugs, looking down at the black velvet box. "I'll wing it."

"Practice with me," she suggests suddenly, her eyebrows raising. "Right now."

"W-what I don't—"

"It's a perfect idea," she says, and she points at the carpet. "Get down on your knee. We'll practice this so many goddamn times that when you ask her, you'll be so suave she can't help but say yes."

"No," he says. "I'm not practice proposing to you."

"It's a perfect idea," she repeats. "You'll know what it feels like, at least, to say the words. I'll bet you haven't even said them out loud yet."

She has a point there.

He concedes, mainly to humor her because she's stubborn like hell when she wants to be, but also because it is a kind of good idea. Elsa has a lot of those.

"I'm not getting down on my knee, though."

Her eyes grow wide. "_You're not getting down on your knee_?"

"It's a stupid tradition," he says. "I might do it when I'm around her, but this is just a practice."

"She'll like it. She likes tradition. Come on, Jack, it's not rocket science."

"I'll get over it. And you're right, it's much much _harder_ than rocket science."

"Just get on with the goddamn proposal, then, you yellow bastard."

He laughs, and she looks at him innocently.

Jack clears his throat then, and opens the small velvet box. Elsa leans over on the couch to examine it, and lets out a breath of appreciation. "Wow. Jack the Cheapo actually went out to get a nice ring."

"Shut up."

He looks down at the ring, then up at her. He needs to imagine that she's Rapunzel, but it's clear she isn't. Elsa's _Elsa_, and he takes a careful look at her to prepare himself.

She's looking up at him with amusement and glee, and he's used to the lovely planes of her face. He's used to her oneiric eyes, the lovely curve of her mouth, the entire Elsa-ness of it all—he's used to it because he's clearly not allowed to have it, and it doesn't bother him at all. She's undeniably beautiful—he'd be blind if he didn't notice that already.

And it doesn't even matter, because she's an even better friend.

But Elsa's beauty makes him especially uncomfortable today, especially because it looks like she has miles and miles of legs with those shorts she's wearing.

And you know, the whole Rapunzel's cousin thing.

"Go on," she mouths, and he closes his eyes briefly.

"Will you…," he's searching for the words, and something in her face softens at his hesitation. He sees it in the slight relaxation of her eyebrows, in the sympathetic light of her eyes, in everything. And something in the air decidedly shifts before he begins his next sentence. "Will you…marry me."

"No."

"No?!" He looks shocked, and she laughs out loud. "Why?"

She lifts one eyebrow. "You've got to be more excited, man! You're going to marry _me_, Rapunzel, the girl of your dreams! You're getting _married _in general, for Christ's sake! You're going to have all this long golden hair on the pillow next to yours for the rest of your life! You're going to have a little child who'll scrape his knee and call you "Pop" and you'll buckle him in his seatbelt. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah." He watches her as she speaks, watches the crazy way she gesticulates and feels the meaning behind what she says. It makes perfect sense, and it tugs at his heart.

"You need to _prove_ to me that out of all the things I, Rapunzel, could be doing with my life, I want to spend it with you! Out of Paris, Rome, Barcelona, some other stereotypical European cities I could be gallivanting around in while I'm young and my mane flows like waterfalls of golden honey, I _want to spend my life with you_."

She looks at him intensely, and he nods. Elsa gets like this sometimes, when she thinks particularly hard, and it's when Jack likes being with her the most. It makes him think. "Okay. Okay. I get you."

"Try again. Put your soul into it." She grabs his hand, and squeezes it briefly. His blood freezes for a tiny millisecond before it begins running again.

He clears his throat, and looks at the ring once more.

"Uh, Rapunzel."

"Yes?" Elsa looks at him, and squeezes his hand again. He really wishes that she wouldn't touch him, because he feels vulnerable and strange right now. "What is it, Jackson?"

"Don't say my name like that, heathen."

She laughs. "Don't get sore."

"Rapunzel?" He tries again, and looks up at her hesitantly.

"Yes?" She bats her eyelashes at him, and holds his hand just above her heart. His thumb brushes her collarbone, and he feels it keenly.

"Don't make me laugh."

"Sorry." Their hands, still linked, drop back to the couch.

"I want you to know…that," his voice is low and serious, and something hits him in his gut that makes him squeeze her hand back, "I love you."

She detects the sincerity in his voice, and she gets the sense that she's beginning to dig a small hole for herself. She gets the sense that something is changing into serious business.

"I want you to be the person who…I see everyday. Who I'm not going to get tired of, who I love to death, who loves me to death, and it's just"—he sneaks a glance at her—"I really know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

"And I'm not really good at these things. Yeah, I'm actually kind of awful at these things. And marriage is just a piece of paper, but it'll be _our_ piece of paper. You'll be my _wife_, and I'll be your _husband_, and everything we have will solidify, even if it's just on that paper. Does that make sense?"

Elsa nods her head, but she drops eye contact with him.

He sounds…sincere.

And something is heartbreaking in his sincerity.

" So…marry me Rapunzel?" the last words are a breath.

Some strands of hair fall before her face. Jack's hyperaware of everything right now, and his breath is racing.

He gets the sense that sometime in the future, someone else will be saying these words to Elsa. That she'll probably cry and say "yes" over and over in that way of hers, because she _sees things differently_ and her love is so pure that…

That the idea of her loving destroys him a tiny little bit.

"Yes."

The word is quiet, and the smile's fallen off of her face. He senses something serious in her demeanor that he doesn't want to approach.

They sit in agonizing silence for a couple of moments.

When she gets off the couch, he does too.

Their hands drop.

"Walk me back home?" she asks, and the words are the light.

"Yeah. Always."

Something's changed.

But he doesn't want to think about it.

So he grabs his coat, shoves his phone in his pocket, and opens the door for her.


	5. The First Call

**AN**: This is a punk and prep kind of thing that I pounded out in like an hour because punk and prep gets to me lol. Enjoy!

(And side note, I need to disappear for a couple of weeks maybe because math is kicking my ass, so my legit story won't be updated till my fucking AP tests are over.)

* * *

The music store is a bad idea.

Located in an obscure location downtown, it's musty and dark, and it's the type of place that Elsa imagines hooligans like to hang around. The inside reeks of tobacco, and a couple of girls with lilac hair and droopy cardigans stand in the dim store flipping through CDs.

Definitely a bad idea.

She has to remind herself why she's here to prevent herself from bolting—Anna needs a specific CD for her birthday because of goddamn Hans, and Elsa couldn't find it online. It's one of those pretentious CDs that you need to go into a store to buy, because it's too "underground," to quote Anna's words.

Underground, her ass.

There are bins and shelves full of CDs, and Elsa has no idea where to begin.

The store is small but it's so crowded and she wants to get out because remnants of anxiety are getting to her, and she feels wildly uncomfortable. Albums like _Down the System_ and _Raging Sex Machine_ don't belong near her argyle sweater or her black flats, and posters of boys with tongue piercings and huge holes in their ears don't belong near her at all.

Her hands shake, and she moves toward a bin and begins flipping, hoping to God that Anna's CD might be in one of a sea of many.

She doesn't know how long she looks, only knows that she's probably going to fail because the discs are _everywhere_.

She stays inside looking pensive long enough for the lilac haired girls to leave, and long enough for one employee to approach her, annoyance thick in his voice.

"Do you need help or something?"

The voice comes from behind her, and she whips around, ready to decline.

But when she sees him, and when he sees her, something stops.

It's kind of like…looking into a warped mirror, they both notice. Fair hair, blue eyes—the only differences are the crazed look of panic in her eyes, and the cool look of irritation in his. He also has his left ear pierced with a black stud, and his jeans are ripped, while she has tiny little gold earrings, and her skirt is strictly knee length.

He clears his throat, but the annoyance is still there, and slightly more intense now that he has to ask her again. "Do you need help or something?"

The second time he repeats the question, she looks down at the carpet, hands shaking.

"Yes," the word is out of her mouth before she can stop it. She makes fleeting eye contact with him, and he feels his interest rising. She's pretty. "I need…uh, _Fairytales_ by The Sugar Bombs."

He raises his eyebrow—which isn't pierced, thank God—and a tiny sarcastic smile pulls at his lips. "_You_ listen to The Sugar Bombs?"

"I need the CD," she replies quickly, careful to avoid any personal questions. "Can you just tell me where it is?"

"I can tell you that it's out of stock," he says, leaning against a shelf. He puts a hand in his pocket, and normally she would scoff at contrived acts of coolness, but something so natural emanates out of him that she feels like she needs to smoke a million cigarettes to be cooler. "But I can help you find a CD similar to that, princess."

The word 'princess' makes her stomach twist, and she hopes it doesn't show on her face. "Is there anything else by The Sugar Bombs I could have?"

"Nah," he replies. "They've only got that one album. It's an utter piece of shit, by the way, and you still haven't answered my question, princess. Do ya listen to them?"

"No, but that's not important—"

"Then why would you be looking for anything by them? They're so obscure, you have to have some connection to them." He questions her casually, but an undercurrent of intense curiosity pulses in his words.

"My sister needs the CD." She doesn't know why she tells the truth, but she figures he'd be the type of persistent person who would squeeze the truth out of you. And she wants him to stop asking, and to stop talking to her.

"Your sister listens to The Sugar Bombs?"

"Why is this important?" She crosses her arms, in a quietly defensive way, and takes a brief glance at her watch. He notices, and grins a tiny little bit.

"Princess, you can tell a lot about a person from their music choice. Also, the drummer guy Hans? He used to work here. I knew him. Total phony. Hate him."

At the mention of Hans' name, she cringes a little, and he observes it with a small laugh.

"Is that why you want the CD?" he says, voice still cool, but a hint of amusement seeps through his question. "Did you date Hans or something? He's infamous around here, you know."

"_I'm_ not dating him," she says, and she fidgets, mildly uncomfortable. He could be worse, she supposes. "My sister is."

He laughs then, but it's more of a harsh bark. "Close enough. Your sister as pretty as you? That's probably why."

She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, and he figures he should tone himself down. "Please, just give me any other CD you think she'd like."

"What real music does she like?" he asks, both hands in his pockets now. "What _real_ bands, besides the freaking Sugar Bombs?"

Elsa thinks for a second. "She really likes Hark. They're her true favorite, I think."

"Perfect," he says, and he's moving toward the back of the tiny room, the phrase 'true favorite' ringing through his head. The way she talks is articulate and careful, the complete opposite of his reckless prose. "Follow me."

Her arms fold around herself tightly while she walks, and she notices how fluid his walk is for someone who looks gangly.

He brings her to a tiny bin that he pulls out, and he flips through the discs effortlessly before he pulls out three.

"Does she have all of their albums?" he asks.

Elsa shakes her head. "Not that one."

She points to one named _Listening No. 5_, and the employee grins as he hands it to her. "This is their magnum opus, you know. I'm surprised she doesn't have it."

"Thank you." _Magnum opus. Yeesh._

She takes the CD from his hands, and quietly sighs in relief that at least Anna will have a birthday present, even if it's not by the goddamn Sugar Bombs.

"Hey," the employee says suddenly. "Hey princess. You ever go to one of the Sugar Bombs' shows?"

"Once," she replies, looking at the back of the CD. Good. It's inexpensive.

"Did it suck?" The question is blunt, and he looks comically serious.

She laughs behind the back of her hand, and it's something that he would usually pass off as aristocratic or phony, but she looks so genuine that something in him wants her to laugh like that more.

"I didn't have anything to compare it to," she says, "but I personally thought it was awful."

"Good," he nods. "I'm glad that Hans sucked."

"He did," she nods her head too, and something feels more relaxed in her. Mutual hatred of a person is a great way to feel comfortable around someone.

"Their music is artificial, like it's cooked in a can or whatever," the employee continues, and he notices the careful way in which she listens to him talk. He likes it. "But let's get you ringed up, princess."

She's still a little miffed by the princess thing, but she lets it slide, and pulls money out as they walk to the register.

When he gives her the change, his fingers linger on her palm for a second too long as he throws her a casual smile.

"My name's Jack," he says.

"Elsa."

"Well, Elsa, I bid you luck with your sister and The Sugar Bombs. Have a great evening." He takes the tips of his fingers off of her palm, and salutes her.

"Thanks. You too," she says, and she exits the store with a sort of unexpected lightheartedness because she may have just enjoyed interacting with another human.

And later, when she opens up the bag, the receipt drifts to the floor. On it is a number, and it's addressed to 'princess.'

She calls it.


	6. The First Sleep

**AN: **Aloha! This kind of like a filler, but I actually kind of like this, even though it's kind of a departure from fluff, again.

* * *

Jack wakes up slowly.

First, it's the sense of awareness. The veil of sleep is pulled back, something stirs in his brain, and slumber seeps out of his skin.

Then, it's the feeling that accompanies awareness. The feeling arrives first in sound—he hears breathing, the soothing tick of a clock, and the sounds of the city awakening. He always sleeps with his window open for this reason; he can hear the world wake when he does.

Then the feeling evolves into sight. He lifts one eyelid, and sees the pale gold streams of light on the carpet. And before he lifts the other one, he freezes.

Because he feels touch.

And there's somebody touching him.

It's an arm, around his waist. His mind goes into overdrive for a second, thinking of people and places and _dear God did anything happen_ before he realizes—_Elsa_.

His heart calms down, and he feels the comforting weight of her small forearm now.

He begins remembering.

The night before, he'd flown into a breakdown, and he remembers Elsa comforting him. He remembers the soft blue of her eyes, the gentleness of her hands, the soothing tones of her voice as she rocked him back and forth over and over.

The night comes back to him in fragments and blurred phrases, but he knows that she stayed.

He's still wearing his jeans, and he wonders how to extricate herself from the situation before she stirs and pulls herself closer to him.

He doesn't contemplate moving before it's too late—her face is in the back of his worn T-shirt, and she sighs quietly.

_Did I ask her to stay?_

He's a stone under her touch, before he lets himself think for a second what it would be like if he let himself melt into her arms. He thinks what it would be like if she could hold him like this forever, if they could spend every morning like this.

_If._

He shakes it off, even if he knows he loves her so much it pains him sometimes because it's just something he doesn't see happening. He breaks down, he freaks out, he panics—it's a wonder Elsa and Jack are friends in the first place.

And he clearly violated a friend line yesterday by having her comfort him.

_Shit. _

Quietly, he draws himself out of the bed, and rubs at his eyes. He stumbles into the bathroom of his tiny apartment—being a college student doesn't exactly merit a luxurious lifestyle—and brushes his teeth. He notices a paper cup by the sink that Elsa probably used last night; a toothbrush that he hadn't used yet is in it.

Elsa probably used it, and thinking of her brushing her teeth in his bathroom is so unexpectedly intimate that it makes him shake his head and swear under his breath.

He doesn't want to go back into his bedroom, so he goes into what the housing authority called the "kitchen," which is really just a _tiny_ space with a tiny oven and a shitty microwave. His mini fridge has some leftovers in it, so he heats those up, and when he hears the water running in the bathroom he knows she's woken up.

She's probably brushing her teeth.

_Double shit_.

The door creaks open, and Jack takes a deep breath.

When she steps out, they make eye contact once. She's wearing a pretty dress that's all wrinkled now that she's slept in his bed—_she slept in _my bed—and she looks reasonably refreshed.

She tries for a smile, but he drops his eyes and drums his fingers nervously on the counter.

"Morning," she says pleasantly. Her voice is soft and non-intruding, and just so _warm_ that he wants to fall into it.

"Morning," he mutters. The words _ungrateful_ and _insolent_ and _awkward_ appear in his mind before he cringes and pushes them away.

"Did you sleep well?"

He looks up at her, heat in his face. His mouth is dry and his words jumble together. "I-I—"

"I'm only teasing," she says with a small smile. She looks lovely in the morning light.

After a few seconds of silence, the microwave dings, and Jack brings out his leftovers.

"If you want to eat," he says, trying for some semblance of casualness in whatever's left of his dignity, "I have some Chinese leftovers."

_Chinese leftovers. The breakfast of kings. Smooth, Jack._

"I'm fine," she says, and she takes a seat at his two-person table.

He swallows, and sits down with her. The leftovers are steaming, and so are the tips of his ears.

She doesn't prod him with any questions, and he doesn't know what's worse—their talking about last night, or their not talking at all.

So he tries to instigate something—an apology, at the very least.

He takes a deep breath.

"Elsa, listen, I'm really sorry—"

She lifts up a hand to stop him, and he shuts his mouth immediately, _gladly_. She begins speaking in that same soft, melodic voice. "Don't apologize. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Her insistence on his comfort makes him cringe, and he tries to apologize again.

"If you were uncomfortable at all, God, I'm—"

"I said don't apologize," she says gently. "Don't apologize, because I understand that it's hard, and…"

The silence between them crackles as her voice breaks slightly, and she clears her throat.

"…._I understand _what it's like to lose. So…don't worry."

A lump rises in his throat.

He suddenly remembers her singing to him last night, and he remembers thinking it was the prettiest thing he ever heard. He was probably drunk—no, now he remembers that he was _definitely_ drunk—and she sang him a lullaby. He fell asleep feeling whole.

He remembers that she lost her parents when she was young, and he thinks of the pure _injustice _of it all before she gently places her hand on top of his.

"I'm here," she whispers. Tears are leaking into her throat. "So if you ever need anybody again, I'm here."

He doesn't know if she's saying it for him, or if she's saying it for herself. Either way, he knows that she understands, and that's all he asks for.

"Thank you," he says, and he thinks it sounds too formal. He _just doesn't know_ how to deal with people, doesn't know how to deal with his own grief, and when Elsa rises out of her chair to grab her bag, he doesn't know what to do.

Everything is too sudden, and he wants everything to stop.

And he wants something else.

He wants to grab her and _touch her_ in the most innocent way possible, maybe rest some of his fingers over her delicate arms, and tell her over and over again that he gets it. He knows that she understands, he knows that she's one of the best human beings alive, and he knows that she could really _help_ him. He's knows she's the sun, she's the moon, she's a star in a sky full of mediocre inky blackness.

So when she opens the door, he runs over—God knows the apartment is small enough that he only has to jog a few steps—and he stops her.

_What am I doing?_

But something tells him to continue.

He sees the tears trailing down her cheeks, and she looks at him, confused, before she understands that he wants to say something.

He looks at the ground for a moment before the word _insolent_ appears in his mind again, and he shakes his head and looks directly into her eyes.

"Thank you," he repeats, and this time he _feels_ the words when he says them. He feels it in his stomach, in the husk of his voice, and Elsa smiles.

She nods, and he feels something right again when she draws him into a hug.

And he feels right when they break apart, and his face draws close to hers, and her breath drops to a sudden stop.

_Sudden._

He thinks about what the hell he's doing, but he lets something in him _go._

"Can…May…"

He stumbles through his words because being close to her makes him feel safe and like he's on the edge of a Great Thing, and he knows he's being impulsive, but it's all worth it when she nods.

And when he moves in to kiss her, she grabs the front of his T-shirt and begins kissing him first hungrily.

The way their lips fit together is perfection.

The way she breathes a choked laugh is perfection.

And it's just for the first time in forever—

he feels okay.


	7. The First Impulse

It's 2 AM when she calls him, and she's not really sure why, but she does it anyway.

Maybe she needs him. Maybe she just needs somebody, and maybe she's just crazy because she _misses him so much_ that it drives her insane and she needs to hear his voice tonight.

Her fingers shake when they dial his number, and she closes her eyes.

_Pick up, please, pick up, pick up, pick up._

The dial tone rings once, twice, three times, four, before she thinks that maybe this is a stupid idea after all and maybe she should just go to bed because maybe he doesn't want to talk to her anyway and—

"Hello?"

His voice is groggy and deep when he picks up, and it's the sort of quiet that she wants to listen to forever.

A pause.

"Who is this?"

"Uh," she says. "It's me."

There's a silence, before she hears a shift in the background. She can picture him in his room right now, shirtless and shifting and thinking. "Elsa?"

"Yeah," she responds. "I mean, yes. Yes, it's me."

"It's two in the morning, Elsa," he says, a tiny bit annoyed, and she cringes because she knows that some of her habits are irritating. Maybe a lot of them are, actually.

"I know," she replies. "I'm sorry for waking you up, and I mean, if you want to go back to sleep, that's fine by me, sorry."

There's another silence, and another shift. "Nah," he says, and she hears some of the sleep fading out of his words. "I'm awake. What's up? Is everything going okay?"

"Yes." She nods, even though he can't see her, and her free hand moves to flip a page of her history textbook obsessively back and forth. "Everything's fine. I'm just kind of stressed and overwhelmed right now, and I'm being an idiot—sorry for waking you up—but…I mean…I really miss you. I…I just kind of wanted to hear your voice. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he says softly, and she continues flipping that same page back and forth.

"Sorry."

"Elsa," he says, and he says it with a smile in his voice. She laughs a little, and she's immediately comfortable with the lull of his voice in the little space of them in that phone.

"What are you doing right now?" he asks. He laughs a little bit, and his voice turns silly and sarcastic. "What are you _wearing_?"

"Sweatpants and a hoodie with more holes in it than years I've been alive," she responds, and when she hears his snort, she grins.

When she talks with him, things get easier, she notices. She can be witty, they can banter and laugh, and it fills her with the sort of happiness that feels like sunlight.

"You're such a tease, Elsa Arendelle," he replies, and she grins. "Tell me more."

"I'm, uh, reading," she says. "Studying, in fact. Big test tomorrow, or I guess it's today now. It's, um, part of it's going to be on the Vietnam War. Remember that?"

"US History!" he says, and she has to remind herself that he actually cares about what she says. It was something they established early on their relationship—she had been too afraid to talk about anything, so he had told her he _cared_ about what she had to say, and she had kissed him so hard that day he laughed and told her his lips were bruised.

They were in high school then. Now they're a nine hour drive away from each other.

"You were the dark horse star student in that class," Jack continues, and Elsa snorts. "Really, though, you were! And whenever you said anything in class, it was profound as _shit_. I mean, a lot of what you say is like that though. Profound."

"Um, thanks," she says, and there's a brief pause. "…What about you, though? What's going on in your life? What are _you_ wearing?"

"Absolutely nothing," he says, and she blushes for a second before he bursts out laughing. "Just kidding. I'm just wearing a garter."

"_Jack_."

"Fine," he says. "My life's going okay. School, work, missing you, all that jazz. You're going to have to come back here soon, though. My suitors are getting more and more antsy everyday, and you'll have to come back and beat them off with a stick."

"You're crazy."

"Crazy for you," he replies, and she feels that familiar tug in her gut whenever he's being particularly clever because Jack is just _Jack_ in the best way possible sometimes, and she wants to drive for those nine hours until she's at his door.

"My roommate kind of hates me, though," he continues. "I don't know when it started. Maybe it was the first prank, or after the second one, or after the third. Either way, it's getting pretty bad. I think I might've woken him right now. Yeah, I definitely did. One second—Ayyyy, Bunny! How's it going, _mate_?"

She hears a "Shut up, Frost" in the background, and she laughs. "Maybe I should go."

"It's two twenty right now," Jack says, and she checks her watch. "So maybe, yeah. Just—just get some sleep tonight, okay, Elsa? I don't like the idea of you being sleepy all the time and tired."

"You should go to bed too then," she says. "Get your nine hours, or whatever that ridiculous time is."

"Okay, Mom," he says, and she rolls her eyes. "I'll be sure to do the dishes and walk the dog too."

"You're really clever, Jack Frost. They should give you a show on the comedy channel. You know what they'll call it? _Fun Times with Frost_. And it'll be just as terrible as the title sounds."

"Elsa, the antagonism is unnecessary."

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted. And oh, hey, Elsa?"

"Yes?"

"Um, will you sing me a lullaby?"

"What are you—five?"

"I'm like twelve, actually, thank you very much."

She smiles.

"That Audrey Hepburn one," he says. "I like that one."

"I don't know the words."

"Hum it," he says, and she hears a yawn in his voice.

So she hums for him, quietly, and he falls asleep listening to her voice. Her voice, he thinks, is love—all light and air and _warmth_ in soft melodies.

And they fall asleep thinking of each other, and in the end, she's really really glad she called him.

And she's really really glad for him.

* * *

You'll

have

to

come

_back_.


	8. The First War

**AN:** Yooo, my APs for calc and chinese are over and my huge essay is over and my god, am i relieved. i still have the ap for european history and finals though, but whatever because calculus is over and life is sweet.

Enjoy!

* * *

Elsa's infuriated with Jack, and holy _shit _can he tell.

There are three parts to her anger, he thinks:

1. It probably has something to do with the fact that sometime last week, Elsa caught Jack checking her out subconsciously, and he _swears _it wasn't anything chauvinistic or disgusting, and he didn't mean it that way _at all_—she just looked pretty, although he thinks she always does, and his subconscious just wanted to _appreciate_, although that sounded an awful lot like objectification anyway and holy _shit_ he was getting nowhere near to a justification with that one.

She didn't mention it at all, just narrowed her eyes slightly and turned away from him with pink coloring her face.

2. It most likely has something to do with the fact that he's quite possibly one of the least organized and least qualified summer camp counselors in Camp Corona. He's never on time to anything, never volunteers for kitchen duty, never gets his shit together when people expect him to.

But the kids love him anyway, and that's why they keep him.

3. It definitely has something to do with the fact that they were just playing a game of hide and seek tag with the kids, and he just pushed her in the lake.

Yeah, definitely the pushing her in the lake thing.

She shoots him a look as she's wringing her hair out on the dock, and Jack holds his breath because Elsa _Arendelle _is right next to him, and he knows he shouldn't be getting this excited because she looks freaking _furious_. It's a perfect summer day, Jack notes, but Elsa looks like she could summon lightning out of the sky and kill him or at least ensure he won't be able to have kids anymore.

"Why," she finally asks, her voice low, "did you just _push me in the lake_, Jack Frost?"

"I was It!" he tries to explain, and she continues squeezing lake water out of her hair. Out of her perfect, immaculate platinum hair, which now has some plants tangled in it because of the whole lake thing.

Oops.

"I was It," he repeats, "and I was trying to tag you. By the way, Elsa, hiding on the dock in plain sight isn't the smartest idea in hide and seek tag, you know."

He expects a smile or maybe an eye roll from her, but she just flushes a tiny little bit and looks embarrassed. "I couldn't think of a good enough hiding place."

"So you decided to hide _out in the open_?"

"That doesn't matter," she snaps, and she's done with her hair, so she moves to the bottom of her T-shirt. "What matters is that you tagged me hard enough to _push me in the lake_."

"It was an accident!" he says, hands up. "I swear. No bad intentions, or anything, it was an accident. And um, you still have some plants in your hair."

She looks at him with exasperation. "Thanks for the notice."

"Um, no problem," he says. She looks at him flatly. "Really, I swear, it was an accident, I wasn't out to get you or anything, and I owe you one so just don't kill—"

"You owe me one?" she asks, and her face turns devious.

"Uh," he pauses, looking at her sudden grin. "Yeah, I owe—"

"Owe me this, you idiot," she says, and suddenly she has her hand on her chest—_holy shit, she's touching me—_and her hand is surprisingly strong and it pushes him until he yelps and feels his body hit the water.

_She just pushed me in the lake_.

When he resurfaces, he spits water out of his mouth and narrows his eyes at Elsa. She's laughing the hardest he's ever seen her do so, and he'd be happy about that in another time and place because she just waged war.

And Jack Frost is good at waging war.

So he places his hands on the dock, and glares at Elsa. Her hands cover her mouth, but her eyes gleam with mirth, and he shakes his head slightly to get rid of some water droplets.

He extends a hand. "Help me out at least?"

She's collapsing with her laughter, but she nods and reaches her hand out to him, and _this_ is when Jack will rise from the ashes of his fall.

_This is war_.

Her laughter is cut off by her scream as he drags her in the water with him, and this is when he begins laughing.

She comes up to the surface looking incredibly pissed, and he knows he should feel bad about the fact that this is the _second_ time she's been in the lake today, but she looks so angry that it's freaking _hilarious_.

_Jack Frost always wins_, he thinks, and he thinks this is witty enough to tell her so he does.

"Jack Frost," he says, "always wi—."

She splashes water in his face before he can finish his sentence, and she begins smiling again.

"I was going to do a victorious sentence," he says after he's cleared the water out of his mouth and eyes. "You can't just do that when someone's in the middle of their—"

Another splash, and she's full on laughing now.

He narrows his eyes, and decides that if she's going to play dirty he might as well too, so he sends a splash her way, and he has to admit—

It's pretty funny when someone gets splashed in the face.

"Jack Frost"—_splash_—"you are quite possibly"—splash—"the most _infuriating _individual I have ever come across"—splash—"at this camp. _Will you stop that_."

But both of them are laughing and treading water, and when he finally stops sending arcs of water her way, she swims over to him, and does something to idiotic Jack can't fathom how she functions in her day to day life.

She kisses him.

She grabs him by the front of his orange Camp Corona shirt, and he doesn't even understand what she's doing before his arms automatically snake up to her waist. His heart feels like it might die, his lungs feel like they might collapse, and her lips are so soft that all he can think is a resounding "Holy _shit_."

When she breaks away, he almost protests, before she reaches on the top of his head and dunks him in the water.

_Ah_.

When he resurfaces, he looks at her, wide-eyed. "What the heck was that for?"

"Which one?" she asks, and there's a smile on her face.

"Either," he says, shrugging in the water.

"The dunk because you deserve it," she says with a shrug back. Her eyes flicker around before she begins her next set of words, and he feels that familiar feeling in his gut whenever she's near. "And, uh, the kiss because I heard you talking last week to Rapunzel about how I wouldn't ever notice you in a million light years and you sounded sad but also it was really melodramatic and funny, and I figured I could prove you wrong."

"I'm kind of embarrassed that you heard that conversation, but I can accept that," he says. "Just try to leave my honor intact."

She snorts, and she grabs his hand as they swim back over to the dock. They hoist themselves up, and Elsa sighs.

"Are the kids still playing?"

"Definitely," Jack nods. "I got so many of those little tykes that they're probably dizzy tagging each other right now."

She looks at him with tenderness he hadn't bothered to look for before, then looks down at her shirt in disdain. "I smell like lake water now."

"I happen," Jack says with a devious grin, "to like the lake water."

"Don't try to pull any of your smooth moves on me, Jack Frost."

"Elsa Arendelle, I beg of you, leave some semblance of my dignity intact."

She laughs, and they're kissing again, hands intertwined.

And she isn't pissed anymore, and although he knows she might give him some more hell later, he smiles against her mouth.

_I can deal with that_.


	9. The First Story

**AN**: I'm back! Um, this one is kind of different, I think. Time is fluid, I didn't try for any sort of witty banter, Jack isn't super confident, and there are a lot of line breaks haha.

* * *

The first time she meets him is in the bookstore.

Of course, she's seen him before a million times—he works here, she goes here to relax and read every weekend—but she hasn't actually _met_ him, technically, until today.

And today, Elsa's reading some sad war story when Jack spots her.

She sits where she always does, in a chair by a window. Her hands carry a worn book in between them, and her legs are curled up underneath her. He knows she comes here every Saturday, always sitting in the same spot, always carrying her own books.

He knows she's insanely beautiful, and he knows that girls who look as pensive and quiet and reserved as she does deserve a little bit of fun in their lives.

And who in their right mind would read _Remarque _for fun?

So after watching her serious face flip through war book after war book for weeks, Jack Frost thinks that maybe he can do a little bit of good in the universe once in a while, and he grabs a copy of his favorite book—_it's a comedy, maybe she won't even like it—_, comes up with a simple plan, and approaches her today with one hand in a trembling fist and the other wrapped around the book.

When he rounds the corner to the little spot where she reads, he makes sure to clear his throat first. She freezes for a moment, before her head tilts up slowly and she sees him. Her eyes squint briefly, so he begins talking before he can change his mind. And he's thought about changing his mind a lot.

"Um, hello," he says, and he tries for a little wave. It's kind of awkward, but he plows through. "I have, um, a book here. And, uh, I've seen you always reading. And, um, this is my favorite book, so it'd be cool if you could uh…read it?"

He winces a little bit, because he realizes it's a stupid request as soon as it's left his mouth—_smooth sailing, Jackson Frost_—, but when she nods slowly and takes the book out of his hands, he breathes a tiny sigh of relief.

And when he rounds the corner and his boss Nick gives him a questioning look, he punches his fist in the air and gives him a thumbs up back.

And in his corner, Nick smiles, because it's the first time Jack Frost has openly approached a stranger like that in a long, long time.

* * *

She comes back the next week, and she tugs at the ends of her cardigan slightly when she hands the book back to him.

He looks up, and clears his throat. "Did you like it?"

She nods, and she looks at him once politely. He catches the cyan hints in her eyes. "Thank you."

Her posture is ramrod straight—_regal_, Jack thinks—but her voice is soft and airy, and when he hears her speak for the first time, all he can do is smile like an idiot in return.

She leaves, and he flips through the book absentmindedly.

A tiny note slips out, and he feels his heartbeat spike when he sees two words on it.

_It's good_.

* * *

The next time he approaches her is a little bit easier.

He rounds the corner, and she looks up slowly again. But her eyes don't do the squinty thing, and instead she gives him a polite smile.

"Uh, hey," he says, and he laughs a little nervously. "Um, here's another book."

She nods again, and takes it from his hands.

He's ready to leave again, before her voice calls out. "Wait."

And he finds him with another book pressed into his hands, but it's one of her worn paperbacks.

It's a war book.

"Thanks."

* * *

Jack reaches his tiny apartment after school and work and emailing his mother, and with an exhausted exhale, he throws his backpack on the floor and sinks into a chair. His fingers curl around a book.

He begins reading.

After a couple of pages, he notices that she annotates.

He wonders if her handwriting is just naturally perfect or something, because even when it looks like it's rushed it doesn't look messy, just a little bit loopier than normal, and the things that she writes down make sense and are thoughtful.

He reads into the night even though things like homework and obligations exist.

And when he's done, he decides his favorite annotation consists of two words—

_Stories matter_.

* * *

The next time he sees her, they hand each other their books back.

They both thank each other, and she's ready to walk to her spot before Jack blurts, "Why war stories?"

Elsa turns around, and she looks at the carpet for a few seconds before she shrugs a little bit. She pinches the end of her turquoise sweater. "They make me think."

And that sentence is in his head for the rest of the day, and he wonders what makes him think before it hits him.

_She makes me think_.

They go on like this for a couple of weeks, exchanging books.

Sometimes she leaves notes in his books, just little pieces of paper with two words written on them—_It's funny, Fantastic writing, Thank you_—and sometimes she tells them to him, and he just smiles.

He's extremely careful with her books, and he always reads through her annotations.

They make him think.

* * *

It's one week that something is different.

She doesn't say anything to him, just hands him the book with a rushed politeness, and hikes her scarf over her face.

He thinks he sees a hint of a blush or embarrassment on her face, so he checks his book for a note.

And his stomach leaps when he sees her small handwriting.

_Oaken's 2PM_?

He nearly drops the note, and looks up even though there's no one there. Oaken's is a café only two blocks away, and he wonders why she wants to meet him there.

So he's careful to avoid her corner for the rest of his shift, shelving books and keeping his mind busy to keep it off of her, and when 2PM comes, he walks so fast to the café that he's nearly out of breath.

She's sitting inside, head leaning on one hand, the other hand highlighting a thick textbook, and when the door opens, her head snaps up. She sees him, and she waves.

Jack orders something small, and sits down.

"Hi."

Her voice is composed but a flush creeps down her neck, and he nods. "Hey."

"I'm, uh," she says. "I'm not going to be here the next couple of weeks."

"Oh," he says, and he feels something akin to disappointment in his stomach. "Okay."

She takes a couple of books out of her bag, and slides them over the table.

"Here," she says quietly.

"I don't have any in return for you," he says, and he looks at her. It's the closest he's ever been to her, and even though he's telling his mind to _stay focused, goddammit_, he's noting the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and the berry color of her lips.

_Insanely beautiful_.

She nods, and shrugs. "That's okay."

He looks at his drink in silence—_think of something to say, idiot_—, and she clears her throat again.

"I," she continues, "also have a better answer to your question about war stories. I was thinking about it for the past week."

She looks up at him for some sign to go on, and he nods at her.

"They make me think," she says, and her hand fiddles with the corner of her textbook. "That much is true. But they make me think, more accurately, about what it's like to be human, what it _means_, if it means anything at all.

"And I'm sorry for wasting your time," she says quietly, "I don't really know what came over me, but…you seem like a good person to talk to. You're—you're free to go if you like."

"W-wait," he says. "I, uh, I mean, you look like a really good person to talk to too."

"Really?" she says, and her voice is quiet.

"Your annotations are really good," he says with a nod. "They make me think."

She smiles then, and it's just a small grin but it isn't polite or anything, and Jack smiles back.

"I'm Elsa," she says, and she extends her hand. He grabs it, and she squeezes it lightly once as they shake.

"Jack," he says.

"So, Jack," she asks, and she closes her textbook with a light _thud_. "Why comedies?"

* * *

They talk for an hour or so, before Jack has to go, and he thinks about her. He's been thinking about her a lot lately.

She isn't at the store for a month, but when she comes back, there's something considerably more open about her, and when he asks, shyly, if she wants to grab lunch, she nods and tells him that she'd love to.

They continue exchanging books, and going out to eat, and somewhere along the way, they fall into the lull of dating.

She doesn't even realize it at first, but one lunch, she picks up his hand like she had for the past couple of weeks to squeeze it, and then it hits her.

"Are we dating?"

He smiles, and imitates her characteristic shrug. She laughs. "I think so."

She squeezes his hand. "I'm glad."

* * *

One day, he quotes one of her favorite books without even realizing it.

She kisses him then.

One night, she pulls out a bandaid to put on his finger gently after he's cut himself trying to make a midnight snack.

He knows he loves her then.

And one night, when he's telling a her bedtime story, she falls asleep listening to his voice, thinking sleepily that _stories matter_ even if they're silly ones like his, because she's feeling something, and the way his hand curls around hers and her head rests on his chest makes her understand a little bit better what it means to be a human being.

And she realizes halfway through that he's telling _their story_, of how they met and something about her being _insanely beautiful_, which makes her laugh softly. She squeezes his hand, and mumbles, "I already know this one."

He kisses one of her knuckles. "I know you know it;

You wrote it, after all."


	10. The First Glance

**AN**: Hai, hello, yes, another update. This one is the longest one yet and the format is a bit weird but I kind of like it lol so I hope you do too.

* * *

"The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only."—Victor Hugo, _Les Miserables_

* * *

His dog hates him.

And it's completely _unfair_, Jack thinks, because dogs are supposed to love everyone in the family, not just the younger sister and the mom, and _he's_ the one who has to walk Bunny in the morning anyway, so you think the little guy could show some appreciation.

But his dog still hates him.

And Jack still has to walk him in the morning.

So he usually takes Bunny out around six thirty in the morning for a quick three mile warm up jog, and when he's done, the dog is gladly out of its leash and out and about the house to wake goddamn everybody up.

And everyday it's nearly the same: walking Bunny, school, cross country or soccer or track after school depending on the season, and homework.

But one morning it's not.

Because one morning, at the freaking crack of dawn, when there's _supposed_ to be nobody else in the park, someone is clearly in the park.

And it's a girl.

She's jogging.

He doesn't want to get a good look at her—he probably looks like shit anyway, and strangers in the park this early are generally people to be wary of—but of _course_ he has to get a good look because as soon as Jack jogs by her Bunny has to freaking bark and snap at her heels. Bunny actually brushes the edge of her calf, and she yelps a little, and stops running so she doesn't kick him or something.

Jack's pulling at Bunny's leash, telling him to quit it, and when he looks up at the girl to give her an obligatory sorry, something in him stops.

Because yeah, yeah, there are pretty girls at Burgess High—Rapunzel, Tooth, the whole lot of them— and there are pretty girls everywhere, really, but this girl is—

* * *

_Beautiful_.

There's a boy in the park looking at her, pulling at the leash of his dog—who's still barking at her—and his mouth is open to give an obligatory apology, she guesses.

And he's beautiful.

"Sorry," he mutters, and he looks back down at the pavement.

She mutters something back along the line of "it's okay," and then they're on their ways again, the boy keeping the dog carefully at his side whenever he jogs by her again.

And the boy is also insanely fast, and she wishes that she were alone, but there's something about his facial structure that her mind keeps fixating on. And she tells herself that it's stupid and shallow and ridiculous to think about somebody's face for extended periods of time, but she can't stop, and she shakes her head.

She jogs until her watch beeps an alarm, and she heads home for a shower and breakfast.

Almost everyday in her life is the same, she thinks.

But today, the _one day_ she decides to switch it up and begin jogging a little bit later, something changes.

There's a beautiful stranger in the park.

And as ridiculous as it sounds….she kind of wants to—

* * *

"…see her again," Jack explains during lunch. "Goddammit, Hiccup, I'm telling you."

"Jack," Hiccups says, flipping through a textbook. "I'm telling you that all this is very shallow."

"I know," Jack replies with a shrug of his shoulders. "I know, but…"

Hiccup looks up at him briefly with his mouth in a dry line. "She sounds like every other girl to me, to be honest. And I don't even know her. But blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin? That isn't revolutionary or anything. If anything, it's Barbie-esque."

"Shut up," Jack mumbles. "I'm never talking to you about girls again."

"It's the truth," Hiccup says.

_But they were so goddamn _blue, Jack remembers. _And her hair was so goddamn _pale_ too, it looked like somebody decided to leach all the color out of her or something_.

And he got close enough that he could see pale freckles, and for all he knows she could be absolutely insane or something, but something about her tells him he'd like to—

* * *

"…know him more," Elsa says. "I don't know, this is stupid. But it's the most interesting thing that's happened to me all day."

Anna beams and twirls spaghetti around her fork. "You usually don't have anything to say during lunch when I ask you the most interesting thing that's happened to you all day. But _Elsa_, this is revolutionary! A cute boy _and_ a dog encounter? Revolutionary!"

"Not it's not," Elsa says, and she looks down at the table. "I don't know what came over me. Don't tell Mama or Papa about any of this okay?"

"I won't," Anna says. "And what would I say? Today Elsa met some total stranger and almost kicked his dog in the head, and she thinks that he's beautiful even though brown hair and brown eyes sound kind of boring, sorry, and she wants to know him?"

"Let's just drop this," Elsa says, and she feels heat creeping up her neck.

_But his hair wasn't just _brown. _It was this…copper_, she thinks._ And his eyes looked warm even if his mouth was in this sort of scowl, and this is ridiculous but_ there's something about him _that makes him look like…a fireplace?_

_He looks warm._

She shakes it off eventually, and tells herself that she's just going—

* * *

Crazy.

It's crazy.

But Jack thinks into his pillow and looks up at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, and wonders absentmindedly when he falls asleep, if freckles could ever look like constellations.

Maybe hers do.

And the next morning when he tosses himself out of bed again, he feels something nervous in his stomach when he walks into the park with Bunny.

And when he sees her, he lets out a little breath. Because she's still going at that snail's pace, but she's here.

When they jog by her, Bunny behaves himself, and she shows no notice of him besides stepping aside a little.

_She's breathing wrong_, he notices. _And she should really try to make sure that everything is parallel to the ground or at ninety degrees._

But she goes on, and he always leaves the park slightly earlier than she does.

And when Jack leaves, he wonders.

Because if she's here everyday, and he's going to be here everyday, then this could potentially go on for—

* * *

Weeks.

It's been going on for weeks, and Elsa still has no idea who he is. But she notices little things about him, like how he never pushes his dog to run, even if it slows them down. She notices that he wears a Burgess High sweatshirt, and his shoes are beat up.

He runs like it's no bother to him, and his breathing is always steady and synchronized with his steps.

He also doesn't get any less beautiful, which makes it hard for her, because she can't be thinking about eyes or anything when she should be analyzing twentieth century existentialist literature, and she shouldn't be thinking about how he's actually as tall as her when she should be studying stoichiometry.

She shouldn't be thinking about him in general because it's crazy to imagine anything about him, and boys aren't important in her life at all, but she thinks sometimes that he might be a nice person to talk to.

Because even though he's a stranger, he'd probably be far better than the fakes at Arendelle Prep, and sometimes when she hears him muttering to his dog it's kind of funny and endearing.

So in a romantic context, it'd be ridiculous to think of him.

But she has only a couple of real companions, that it might be nice to have him as a—

* * *

"…friend," Hiccup says after school when they're at their lockers. "Make friends with her, if you can't let this go."

"What do I say?" Jack asks. "This is stupid."

"Yeah," Hiccup replies. "It really is. Glad you're catching on now, Jack."

"Hey, asshole, I'm asking for some sort of advice. It's not that easy to make friends with a stranger."

"Actually, Jack, it is. But I mean, if you're not up for it, just creepily observe her from afar. But if she's from Arendelle Prep, she might end up running in track or something?"

"Nah," Jack shakes his head. "She's too slow. I'm betting she does it recreationally, or something. She seems like the type of person."

"You don't know her at all."

Jack just glares, and grabs his soccer bag to change.

And he figures that it really might be a hopeless case, so he might as well keep—

* * *

Quiet.

They don't talk, even though Anna pesters her about it, and Elsa thinks that it might just be like this forever.

And it's okay.

So they spend months running past each other, and even though she's getting faster, she doesn't really acknowledge it.

They're just running in circles in the park, and they're just strangers who have grown accustomed to each other's company.

But when spring time rolls around, Anna convinces her to join the track team, because _the stranger will probably run for the Burgess team, and Elsa, you like running don't you?_

And she joins on a whim even though she's far too busy with schoolwork and newspaper and life because a tiny bit of her does hope he'll be there.

And maybe she'll even find out his—

* * *

"Name."

"Overland, Jack," he says, and he focuses on tightening his shoes.

"You're running in the 400 today." The head coach says, and Jack nods.

_Dammit_.

He wanted to run in the 3200—two miles, would have totally been under his belt—and although _speed _is something he's good at and he's practiced the 400 before, it's too much energy in one lap and _arghhhhh_.

But he'll run it anyway.

And today's the big meet against Arendelle Prep—which means _she_ might be there, he thinks, and he tells himself to _shut up because it's clear you don't have the balls to talk to her anyway_—so he'll just run, and shut his mouth of any complaining.

The meet starts and there are so many people that he doesn't see her, and he doesn't let himself be disappointed because she _is_ kind of slow so she wouldn't have joined the team, he guesses, although she's been getting a little bit faster in the morning.

Rapunzel and Merida are both running the 400 too, and Jack tells them good luck right before their race.

He watches them gather up at the start of the track, and doesn't really pay attention, just wonders if Rapunzel's new haircut makes her feel like a million pounds lighter or something, and if Merida's hair ever slows her down.

And then the starter goes off, and the girls are running. Hiccup's cheering, and Jack brings himself to stand up to watch.

Merida's _fast_, and she looks like she's going to win, but then again she's on the inside lane so she turns in slower and there's a girl on the outside lane who—_holy shit_.

It looks like she's—

* * *

Flying.

Elsa's flying.

She doesn't even remember when the race ends, only knows that there's energy still buzzing in her and Anna is grabbing her hand and yelling her name, and when she finally catches her breath, girls are patting her on the back and she's saying thank you.

And then her ears pick up on it, a voice that's typically low and cranky when speaking to his dog and she turns around slowly—

and he's there.

She freezes, and Anna is still yelling "Elsa, you did it!" over and over, and when he finally looks over to see what the commotion is all about, he stops for a moment too.

They're not really sure what to do, just looking at each other, so when she first breaks eye contact to hug Anna and tell her thank you, he looks down at his shoes and his friend nudges him.

She's a bit tired anyway, and a tiny bit sweaty, so she almost walks away before Anna grabs her elbow and says with a devious grin on her face, "That's _him_, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elsa replies, but she says it too quickly, and Anna's grin magnifies.

"Elsa, you know _completely_ what I'm talking about," Anna whispers, and she nudges Elsa. "Go _talk_ to him for God's sake, don't think I don't know that you think about him _all the time_."

"I don't think about him all the time," Elsa responds, and she tries to sound convincing. "And you don't have mind-reading powers, Anna."

"I don't have to."

"Regardless, I'm not going over there."

"Oh my _God_, Elsa, just—"

* * *

"Go," Hiccup says, and he crosses his arms.

Jack feels his face heat up. "No."

_Her name is Elsa_, he thinks. _Or that's what that crazy girl is screaming, at least. _

Elsa.

"Come _on_," Hiccup urges, and he nudges Jack again. "And I'll admit she isn't bad-looking or whatever, so now we're both shallow idiots, but geez man, _go_."

And this time Hiccup _shoves_ him, and Jack's legs are moving to steady him, and then _fuck this_, he begins walking because even if he's a shallow idiot he wants to know her and—

they bump into each other.

They're both looking at their shoes and walking straight ahead, so when they knock into each other it's like the start all over again, only this time Jack doesn't have an irritating dog on his hands, and she just ran so fast that Jack couldn't believe his eyes.

"Sorry," she says, and she holds out her hand for him to shake as if it's the 1950s or something. She looks a little bit nervous. "I'm Elsa."

"I could tell," he says, trying for some semblance of humor and failing miserably, and he takes her hand and shakes it once before letting it drop. "I'm Jack."

"Anna's…energetic," she replies, and she smiles a little bit.

"You ran really well out there," he says suddenly, and he looks at the ground again before meeting her eyes. _Goddammit how are they so _blue? "Good job, by the way."

"Thanks," she says. "I suppose I'm slower in the mornings."

They both look away then, and Anna and Hiccup come to drag them off with an excuse after the shyness and awkwardness and general feelings of _holy shit what am I supposed to do I don't know_.

And even though they didn't really have a conversation of any sort, Jack feels a tiny bit better because he at least got her name and he had some non-creepy interaction with her, and he can't help but feel like this time might be different.

This time, instead of weeks and months, there might be—

* * *

Years.

Years later, they're both running veterans, and when Jack wins a state championship they're both ecstatic.

He grabs the trophy and looks at her in the stands, and he grins.

He blows her a kiss, and standing in the bleachers, she laughs and blows him one back.

And even though she knows for sure she loves him, and even though it's the quiet type of love that comes out of hand-holding and trail running and that one time he took her out to this hill in the middle of nowhere to show her how the city looked during the night—

a tiny part of her knows that this love thing might not be so new.

Because a tiny part of her knows—

that she might've fallen in love with him the first time she saw him.


End file.
